Finally, I Lost Her
Once is enough
It really got to me yesterday — I couldn’t remember her voice anymore. It used to be so clear, like a favorite song on repeat, playing over and over again, but now it’s fading away. I made an effort to remember her laughing, but it’s like fog. It made me wonder — as time goes on — will her face also go away as the years pass?
Sitting alone with my thoughts, I realized something: “I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love again. Once is enough.” The idea of falling in love again feels as distant as winning the lottery. It’s one in a thousand, and it’s hard to shake that feeling after nearly winning the bet.
Don’t ask me how I did it. I just did it; love was hard. She was right for me, but I was wrong for her. She was the warmth of the sun in summer, but I liked the rain in winter. She was sunshine; I preferred the rain.
Within the next few seconds, it was as if I thought,
“I wish I had never met her.”
After all this time, she intentionally set the bar too high. I asked myself, “Isn’t that a good thing?” Yeah, but if it was a shitty relationship, I could write her off as an asshole. But because it was genuine, I’m afraid I’ll never find that again.
It suddenly became clear to me. It was painful when you left, and I haven’t been able to let anyone else in. It seems like I’m scared of getting injured again.
Yet, being vulnerable isn’t a weakness; it’s a sign of strength. It’s like dancing in the rain instead of waiting for the storm to pass. It’s like when I fall while walking, I don’t say, “Damn these legs”; I just walk again. It’s the same with love. Because it’s scary, and we choose to love, nevertheless.
I don’t want to start a new relationship just like the old one. So, with a mix of sadness and gratitude in my heart, I’m saying goodbye to that part of my life that was filled with love and loss.
I have to let this feeling die with the dignity it deserves.
This morning, I realized that love, in all its complexities, is worth embracing. I said to myself.
“I’m really happy I met you.”
